Durin's Heir
by melissa.kay.568
Summary: Set before the events of the Hobbit movie trilogy, Prince Thorin of Erebor is coming of age and is under pressure to find a young bride of noble blood. So when he spends the entire festivities dancing with the help, King Thrain is furious. But love knows no bounds, and certainly no age gap. Explicit sex scene, and a possible explanation for why Thorin's so moody in the movies!


**Durin's Heir**

The night of the feast was approaching. Everything had to be perfect. The king himself was overseeing plans for the entertainment, as there could be no room for misinterpretation or perceived insults. There simply could not be a repeat of last year's fiasco – when the troubadour sang of a feud between dwarf families and inspired a rowdy fistfight.

For the young ladies in the kingdom, it was also a night where nothing could be left to chance. Gowns were being made, hair was being washed and beards were being trimmed - or removed altogether. The smooth, hair-free elven look was making waves this year. Nothing could get in the way of looking ones absolute best. After all, there was a massive incentive to be the belle of the ball.

The Prince of Erebor, Thorin, Son of Thrain, Son of Thror was coming of age, and according to his father at least, needed to find a bride in order to continue the family dynasty. How he didn't already have a lucky lady in mind was beyond belief. It was generally agreed that the taciturn young royal was easily one of the best looking dwarves in not only Erebor but the whole of Middle Earth. Freya, a kitchen maid who had worked for the royal family for years, believed that part of the reason for his still-single state was that he was a trifle intimidating to, well, _everybody_. Not that he set out to be, mind you, he just _was_.

He had this bearing, you see. He was tall for a dwarf, but also well-built, with strong shoulders and muscular forearms. Then there was the mane of black hair, and the imposing brow that seemed to be set in a perpetual frown. But it was a pair of pure blue eyes with long lashes that set him apart from your average dwarf, regardless of lineage. Blue eyes, high cheekbones and a short, trimmed beard that made the most of his exceptional bone structure. Needless to say, when the invitations went out for Prince Thorin's coming-of-age party, the RSVP's began flooding in the very next day.

Freya was put in charge of the shopping. Every day for a week before the feast she'd leave for the market with a sizeable basket on her arm. She switched arms every day because the blasted thing was so heavy once it was full that she worried about building muscles on one arm and not the other! The farmer's market was bustling on the Thursday before the feast. She even had to wait in line at quite a few stalls. So by the time she made her way back to the kitchen she was tired and crabby, and in no mood for shenanigans.

'So, have you worked out what you're wearing to the feast yet?' Gretchen asked as they peeled potatoes. Freya was about to reply when Thorin's sister-sons, Kili and Fili burst into the kitchen, looking for something to eat.

'Is there any more of that lovely steak and kidney pie left?' Fili asked, sticking his blonde head inside the pantry. Meanwhile, Kili picked an apple and an orange from the bowl in the centre of the table and started juggling them.

Freya sighed. 'If you guys want to be helpful, why don't you go and see about the birds for the feast?'

Kili made a face. 'And mess up my new tunic? I'm not exactly dressed for beheading turkeys.'

'Well, get out of my kitchen before you break something! Go on, out, if you're not going to contribute.'

'All right, all right! Jeez! Somebody got out of bed on the wrong side this morning.' The two young boys high-tailed it out of the kitchen empty-handed before Freya could fetch her infamous wooden spoon and help them on their way.

'Are you all right?' Gretchen asked, carefully. 'You've been in a right mood all week.'

Freya sighed. The urge to tear up was frighteningly strong. 'I don't know what's wrong with me lately,' she admitted. 'Maybe I'm going through The Change.'

'Oh fiddlesticks, you're still _far_ too young for that!' Gretchen reassured her. 'You're only a couple of years older than me. Don't go making _me_ feel old, now.'

'I'm sorry,' Freya said, managing a laugh despite her depression. 'I guess it's just that my sister got married last weekend, and a month before _that_ , my other sister had her third young 'un. And meanwhile, here _I_ am, still a spinster. Left on the shelf, like yesterday's kipper.'

'Don't compare yourself to a fish, love,' Gretchen said, trying to keep a straight face. 'It's not at all becoming.'

'And I suppose these dishpan hands are?' Freya pointed out, holding up her scarred, calloused palms, work-worn from almost ten years of preparing dinners for a royal family. 'Let's face it, Gretch …. I'm not exactly belle of the ball material. I think I'll just hide out in here until the festivities are over.'

'Oh no, you don't!' Gretchen replied, crossly. 'I plan to be there, and you're my best friend. You're getting gussied up, too, whether you like it or not!'

Freya rolled her large green eyes. 'Yay.'

Her bestie poked her in the rib with an elbow. 'And hey, we might even score ourselves a couple of half-decent looking fellows at this thing. There might be a bevy of beauties out to catch young Thorin's eye, but they'll be escorted by brothers and fathers and various other family members. All is not lost.'

'Whatever you say.'

'Trust me, Freya my closest cousin and best friend, you're going to go to this shindig and have a great time. And you're going to _look_ great, too, if it kills me.'

'Ha,' Freya replied. 'It probably will.'

The next morning, Freya was reluctant to get out of bed. She knew there was a tonne of work ahead of her, in preparation for the prince's coming-of-age party, but she just couldn't face the day. Along with all the cooking she had to do, Gretchen was determined that the two of them slip into town and get a herbal facial from the lady who ran the apothecary. And then, she said, we'll come back and actually shave our legs! Won't that be a momentous occasion?

Sure, Freya had agreed. They'll be recording the day for posterity.

The truth was, no matter what she did to try and get psyched for this party, nothing worked. She guessed it had to do with the fact that it reminded her just how loudly her own biological clock was ticking – hell, she was almost ten years older than Prince Thorin and _his_ marital state – or lack thereof – was already a matter of much rumour and discussion. So what did that mean for her? Female dwarves were meant to couple off fairly early and start having lots of babies. She'd always rallied against that pressure, but now …

 _Now_ , she thought, yawning and splashing her face with the water left in her wash-bowl. _Now it all seems so ridiculously important. But_ why _?!_

She dried her face, stood up and faced her reflection in the mirror above her nightstand. She was still rather fetching for a female of her age. No visible eye-bags or creases at the edge of her mouth. She always kept her facial hair to an absolute minimum. Actually, she never liked the idea of girls with beards and had rebelled against that dwarfish tradition for much of her life. Her chestnut hair was wavy and reached the small of her back. And because she hadn't had three or four children in as many years, she hadn't packed on the kilos the way her sister had. No, she was looking fairly decent for her age. Maybe she _would_ make an effort at this feast, after all. Couldn't hurt.

After getting dressed, Freya decided to try to lift her spirits with a jaunt out in the garden before heading to the kitchen, to see if the rosemary and parsley were ready to be harvested. To do this she had to travel past the king's and prince's chambers. Aware that they were both probably still fast asleep at this hour, she tiptoed past their doors. Until she heard her name called. _Bugger_ , she thought. _I thought I was being quiet_!

She peered around the prince's door. 'Did you call me …' she started to say, but the words somehow disappeared into whatever dimension takes them when you have a complete brain freeze. Her mouth hung open, and she had to remember to close it before he thought she'd taken leave of her senses. _Well, I_ have, she thought. _But would anybody blame me? Would Gretchen blame me? I think not!_

Thorin looked up and managed a sheepish smile, which for him was quite a feat. He stood by the huge four poster bed, staring down at two elaborate looking, embroidered tunics. Oh yes, and he was shirtless. Freya tried not to stare, but failed dismally. _Wow_ , she thought. _Just … wow_.

It seemed like an age had gone by, but finally Thorin spoke. 'I'm having trouble choosing between outfits for the feast,' he admitted. 'I'm not … I don't know very much about fashion.'

'Well, let's see both of them on you, then.' Freya replied, finally finding her tongue. As much as she didn't particularly want him to cover up, it was proving difficult to meet the prince's intense blue eyes, with that torso on offer! 'And I'll tell you which one looks better.'

'That sounds like a plan,' he admitted. 'Thank you.'

 _No, thank_ you _,_ Freya wanted to say, but didn't, in case he got the wrong idea!

'Try the blue one first,' she suggested. As he tugged it on, muscles rippling and skin gleaming, Freya fought a swamp of lust so strong it almost overwhelmed her. He was surprisingly smooth-skinned for a dwarf. Most of them had chest hair, and a great deal of it. Some even had back hair. Not Thorin. Oh, he had a sparse patch between his pecs, but nothing you'd call a chest rug. It was nice, though. Acceptable. Made him look manly.

'What do you think?' he asked, holding his arms out. 'I'll have a shirt underneath it on the night, of course ….'

It was a nice enough choice – navy blue with silver embroidery and a Chinese collar. Silver buttons on the cuffs and evenly spaced to the waist.

Freya gulped. 'It brings out the blue in your eyes.'

'Does that mean you like it?'

'It's very … regal.'

'I'll try the other one, then,' he said, gruffly.

'That's not a bad thing. Looking regal, I mean. You _are_ a prince.'

The corner of his mouth tugged up in a smirk. 'If you say so.'

'Well, you asked for my opinion.'

'I did, didn't I. Sorry.'

'What's the other one like?'

The other tunic was a deep, dark red with gold trimming, and didn't suit him at all. It still looked okay hell, the young prince would look good in a potato sack – but somehow it was all wrong. 'The blue one,' Freya decided. 'Definitely the blue.'

'I agree.' Thorin removed the second tunic and once again Freya found herself swooning like a schoolgirl, despite being well past the age where swooning was considered cute. She didn't understand what was going on with her.

She'd spent every day in the presence of Thorin and his family for the past ten years and he'd never affected her like this. Of course she thought he was handsome – she had eyes, after all – but this was different. This was like seeing him in a whole new light. She became aware that she was staring again and started to babble. 'Well, I have to go, I hope I've been helpful but I've got to get the breakfast on and the birds need killing for the dinner feast tomorrow night so I'll head off …'

He chuckled – a deep, husky sound that sent Freya's hormones into a tailspin. 'I'm sorry,' he said, 'You said you had to head off to kill the birds. Head off … get it?'

Freya smiled, despite her fragile state. 'Yes, I get it.' The prince's love of puns never ceased to amuse her. For someone who took himself entirely too seriously at times, his sense of humour, when it did appear, could be downright goofy.

'Are you okay? You look somewhat … flushed. You're not running a fever are you?'

 _Well that's up for debate_ , thought Freya. 'Not that I'm aware of. Why?'

'Well, with all the people we've got coming tomorrow night, now is not the time for one of our kitchen staff to get sick.'

'Good point. I'll go and take a tonic and lie down for a bit.'

'Might be wise,' Thorin agreed. 'Again, thank you.'

Instead of going back to bed, Freya headed for the garden. She needed some cool air and space to think. And the likelihood of getting any sleep at this juncture was, frankly, minimal. She was furious with herself. Pulling parsley out of the soil, she cursed under her breath. The last thing she needed or wanted was to develop feelings for the prince, who was younger than her and had half the kingdom – the female half, at least - panting after him like dogs in heat. Sure, she could understand the inclination – that body, after all, and those eyes – but she had to pull herself together. There was no way known he'd ever look at her as anything but a loyal servant to his family. No way known that his father, King Thrain, would ever allow him to date a servant, either, so she had to nip this in the bud before it became too big for her to control … or hide.

'Oh, there you are! I wondered where you'd got to.' Gretchen's sing-song voice snapped Freya out of her reverie. _Back to the grindstone, I guess_ , she thought. _Thank heavens for that_.

Speaking of dead birds, or beheading birds, Freya had her hands more than full with the turkey meant for the following night's festivities. The gobbler led her on a merry dance around the pen, just trying to catch the bloody thing. Once it was in her grasp, she closed her hand around its neck, only to have it turn its head and almost take her eye out with its beak. Freya dropped the bird, startled, and backed off. She'd seen turkeys get aggressive before, and she wasn't keen on pushing her luck with this one.

Suddenly, Thorin was there. Before the bird knew what was happening, its neck was broke and laid on the stump, reading for beheading. 'Give it a good, sharp swing,' he said, holding the bird's body to guard against posthumous twitches. Freya grabbed up the axe and did as she was told, still a little shell-shocked after the swift bout of violence she'd just witnessed. 'If you approach them from behind you'll find it's much easier,' he said, smiling up at her. Freya tried to remember the last time Thorin had really, _truly_ smiled in her presence. Not just a smirk or a sheepish Mona Lisa smile. A real, honest smile that lit up his face and reflected in his eyes. Not recently, and certainly not in his chambers that morning! 'So … are there any more necks for the chopping block this afternoon?'

'Two more,' Freya admitted. 'A duck and another turkey. I've already dealt with the chooks.'

'Would you like some help?'

'Wow. That would be great. Thank you.'

With the prince in a neck-snapping mood, the job was almost over before it had begun. 'Thank you so much,' she said, tossing the duck's carcass onto the pile in the wheelbarrow. 'I thought that was going to take all day.'

'It was no trouble at all,' Thorin replied. 'Call it my way of thanking _you_ for this morning.'

'Oh, no need to thank me, it was my pleasure,' Freya blurted before she could censor herself.

The edges of Thorin's mouth turned up slowly. Freya could have sworn there was a mischievous glint in his blue eyes. 'Is that right?'

 _Oh God, kill me now_ , Freya thought. _Why, oh why do I have to open my big mouth?!_ She felt her cheeks burn with shame. 'I didn't mean … uh … it's a figure of speech.'

'Uh-huh.' He stood up and dusted off his large hands on the sides of his dark britches. 'Right.'

'Well, you _could_ have been wearing a shirt! You didn't have to parade yourself around like a … like a … Peacock.'

'I was in my room.'

 _Good point._ Freya started to say something but thought better of it. She changed tack. 'So, are you looking forward to the party tomorrow night?'

'Not really, to be honest,' Thorin sighed. 'Father's pressuring me to find a wife. I barely know half the families he's invited. How am I supposed to get to know somebody well enough to marry them, in the space of one night?'

Freya chewed her lip. 'I'm not sure he's expecting you to up and marry someone after one night. I think it's more of a chance to meet girls your age. I know he thinks you hang out too much with the boys. And you're not exactly a social butterfly.'

'Who has time for it?' Thorin complained. 'My sister and her friends were always giggling amongst themselves when she lived at home. The things they'd talk about! Frivolous rubbish, like who was wearing what, and who had been caught with whose fellow! Common gossip.'

'Sometimes girls like to talk about these things,' Freya reminded him. 'We can't _all_ be deep thinkers, 24/7.'

It was Thorin's turn to blush. 'I'm not a deep thinker. Trust me. I just don't say everything that comes to mind, like my sister's friends do. Did. I have no idea what they're like, now.'

Freya was about to say something when somebody inside called for her. 'I'd better go,' she said. 'Thank you again, for the help with the … uh … well, thanks, anyway.'

'It was my pleasure.' Thorin replied, with a grin.

The day of the feast was finally upon them. Freya spent the morning putting the final touches on the gown she had been working on, before heading back down to the kitchen to see to lunch. Engrossed in cutting the carrots for stew, she didn't realise she was being watched until she heard a cough from the doorway. Thorin stood on the threshold, his shoulders almost touching the frame on either side. He seemed to be holding something behind his back. 'Are you busy? Is this a bad time?'

'No, just preparing lunch. Gretchen had the breakfast shift.'

Freya was intrigued. This was the second time he'd deliberately sought her out since the previous morning. Practicing for talking to real girls, perhaps? She might have been older than him, but she was still the right age to be a young, hip aunt. Not really that different from the girls he'd be surrounded by later that evening. Freya tried not to think about that. It wouldn't do to get jealous.

'I have something for you. I was just in the garden and I saw something that … made me think of you.' He walked around the large preparation table and produced his hand from behind his back. In it were three long-stemmed white orchids. 'I hope you like them.'

Freya was struck almost speechless. What was going on here? It wasn't the habit of male dwarves to bear gifts. They usually had to be reminded of birthdays, anniversaries or any other special day, never mind giving flowers for no particular reason. Never mind that he wasn't courting her …

Or was he?!

'Uh … yes, of course I do. I love orchids. Thank you. This is most …' _Peculiar?_ 'Unexpected.'

'I know,' Thorin admitted. 'I just … Can I be completely honest with you, Freya?' He took a step forward, still holding the flowers out to her. She accepted them, feeling a little charge when his fingers brushed hers. She gazed up at him, hoping she didn't look like all the girls she'd ever seen him speak to in the past – in other words, completely star-struck, hanging on his every word.

'Yes.'

'I'm not looking forward to tonight, at all,' he almost whispered. 'You'll be there, won't you?'

'Yes of course I'm going. It's one of the biggest events of the season. I'm certainly not going to hide out here in the kitchen.'

He sighed with visible relief. 'Would you do me the honour of a dance or three?'

It was almost a relief for Freya, knowing all he wanted to see was a familiar face. And yet she couldn't help but feel a tiny bit disappointed that she was relegated to the role of safety friend. 'If you don't mind me treading on your toes,' she joked. 'I'm not much of a dancer.'

'Well we can tread on each other's toes, because neither am I.' He reached out and took one of the orchids from her. Shortening the stem, he leaned in and slid it behind her ear. Freya knew she shouldn't misinterpret the gesture – he was just being a gentleman - but it was hard not to feel a little shiver as his fingertips brushed her cheek. 'There,' he said. 'I thought that would suit you.'

'I don't think you have anything to worry about, tonight,' she told him. 'I think you'll do just fine.'

He raised an eyebrow. 'You're still dancing with me! I'm holding you to that.'

 _Trust me, honey_ , Freya thought, with a secret smile as he turned and walked away. _You can hold me any way you want!_

Gretchen was almost beside herself with excitement. She'd joined Freya in her chambers to get ready and was wearing her favourite red dress, which cinched in her waist and looked great against her blonde curls. But she gasped when she saw what Freya had been working on. 'Wow, Cuz, you look amazing! And that deep green _really_ suits you.'

'Are you sure it doesn't show off too much skin? I was in two minds about making it off-the-shoulder.' Freya admitted.

'No, it's perfect! You are _so_ going to find a man tonight, I just know it!'

Freya stifled a sigh. Maybe so, but there was only one man whose affections she was interested in. And he thought of her as little more than a safety friend. The person you rely on to rescue you from the bore of the party, or to act as a pretend girlfriend if your ex shows up. 'Well, whatever happens, I plan on having a good time, and drinking far too much wine,' she joked. 'Are you finished with that hair brush? I'm thinking of wearing my hair up, tonight.' As she stood trying to decide whether to go with a bun or a chignon, she remembered the orchid Thorin had placed behind her ear so delicately. Would it appear too obvious to wear it again? Too much like a signal saying, "I'm yours for the taking?" He was right: it _did_ suit her. It complemented her complexion and also the dark green of her dress perfectly. She made an executive decision. _The orchid stays_.

By the time the two girls hit the cavernous ball room, the tables were beginning to fill up. Couples were received at the large, arched double doors and asked to show their invitations. The entertainment for the night – a string quartet – were tuning up near what passed for the dance floor. Freya scanned the room for the prince, her heart in her mouth. Instead she spotted the rascally brothers, Kili and Fili, over by the punchbowl. _Hmm,_ she thought. _Those two are far too young to be sampling the rum punch! Ratbags!_

'Look at those two little buggers,' Gretchen gasped, with a giggle. 'Their mother will string them up if she catches them.'

'Well, that's for her to do, not us,' Freya reminded her. 'We can chase them out of the kitchen, but she brought them. She can deal with them. I'm not babysitting tonight.'

'Me neither,' Gretchen agreed. 'Besides, won't it be a laugh if they wind up a little bit sozzled and barf on her shoes?'

Freya was used to the animosity between Gretchen and Thorin's sister. The girls had been friends once upon a time, but had fallen out over something – probably a guy – and hadn't spoken since. Gretchen was forever commenting that Dis needed to remove "that gigantic stick from up her butt". Freya didn't think she was that bad, personally. A little haughty, but so was Thorin, and it turned out that his cold demeanour was nothing more than a disguise for genuine shyness. Perhaps Dis's was, too.

Speak of the devil …

'Ooh, there's the prince,' Gretchen breathed. 'Lance my boils, he's looking _fine_ tonight!'

 _Doesn't he always?_ Freya thought, but followed her cousin's eye-line eagerly. There he was, heading for the punchbowl and his nephews, presumably upon orders from his sister. He was wearing the tunic that had so brought out the blue in his eyes, with a dark shirt underneath and black britches. He looked like he'd taken the time to trim his already short beard, and his hair wasn't as windblown as it usually looked.

'Yeah, he looks nice.' Freya replied, trying to sound nonchalant.

Gretchen glanced at her. 'Nice?! What, are you blind?! He's _gorgeous_.'

'Okay … I wouldn't kick him out of bed. Is that an appropriate response?'

Gretchen seemed okay with that. 'Oh Blimey … he's coming over here, now! How do I look?'

'Great. You look great,' Freya assured her. But as he drew closer it was obvious who Thorin's brilliant blue eyes were trained on. Freya suddenly wished her décolletage wasn't so … exposed.

'Ladies, you both look incredible,' he said, with a nod. But he'd barely taken his eyes off Freya to notice what Gretchen was wearing. 'Thank you for coming.'

'We wouldn't miss it, now would we, Freya-girl?' Gretchen replied, nudging her cousin.

'No, of course not,' Freya said, her mouth a desert. All of a sudden she needed a drink. Badly.

'Can I get you something to drink?' _Well what do you know? He's a mind-reader, too,_ thought Freya.

'Oh, you're just too sweet,' trilled Gretchen, 'but you're the guest of honour, you shouldn't be playing waiter! Here, stay and keep Freya company and I'll go and get the drinks.'

As soon as Gretchen was out of earshot, Freya complimented Thorin on his outfit. 'But I thought you were going to wear a white shirt underneath,' she added.

'I tried it. I looked too much like a pirate,' he explained.

'Yeah … I guess it would, wouldn't it? Anyway, black _is_ your colour. Black, and blue.'

'And green seems to be yours,' Thorin pointed out. Freya liked the way his eyes didn't stop at her exposed shoulders. He didn't regard her like a piece of meat. He actually seemed to be checking out her dress. 'Did you make that gown yourself?'

'Yes. Do you like it?'

'It's beautiful. You're very talented.'

'And you sound nervous,' she told him. 'Don't be. It's just me! How long have we known each other?'

His lips turned up. 'Since I was as old as Fili and Kili, and you were old enough to kick my butt.'

'And I did, quite a few times, from memory.'

'Don't I know it.' The intense way he was staring at her was making it difficult to meet his eyes. Freya felt a blush coming on. _I should have worn a shawl, at the very least,_ she thought. _He probably thinks this is my way of saying, here I am, come and get it!_

'There are so many dwarf maidens here. How do you feel about being on the auction block?' she asked, lightly. 'See anyone you fancy?'

Thorin still hadn't taken his eyes off of her. 'You could say that.'

Freya blanched. 'Thorin, I …'

'Don't, Freya. Don't spoil it.' His voice sounded husky; strange.

 _He can't mean me, can he? He can't possibly … For one thing; his father will have a stroke. For another, he has his pick of hotties tonight! Why_ me _?_ Not that she was complaining. This was exactly what she wanted, in her heart of hearts, wasn't it? Even if it _was_ going to ruffle a few royal feathers.

Just as Freya was trying to think of something else to say that would bring things back from the brink of awkward, Gretchen returned with their drinks. Ale for Thorin, and wine for herself and Freya.

'So, got your eye on anyone, yet, Your Highness?' Gretchen joked, and Thorin almost lost the mouthful of beer he'd just drunk, swallowing it just before he managed to spit it everywhere. 'Not yet, no,' he lied. 'None here compare to either of you.'

'Oh, listen to him. What a charmer.'

'He is, isn't he,' Freya agreed.

He watched her over the top of his beer stein. She, in turn, played with the stem of her glass, sliding her fingers up and down it slowly, as if she didn't know what she was doing (she totally did). Every now and then she'd take a sip, between breaks in conversation, which admittedly, Gretchen was leading, but mostly she used her glass as a prop. It was Flirting 101, and pretty soon even Gretchen caught up with what was going on. She stopped, mid-sentence, and made an excuse to drag her cousin away from the prince.

'All right, spill,' Gretchen demanded. 'If there was an event for Eye-fucking in the Olympics, you two would get the gold medal! Is there something you're not telling me? Are you two sweet on each other? Are you two … You know …'

Freya gasped, pretending to be horrified. 'Gretchen! Ease up! I'm not about to rob the cradle, here.'

'He's only ten years younger. Actually, nine and a quarter, to be exact.'

'And your point is? Newsflash: He's royalty, and I'm The Help. Not gonna happen.'

Gretchen narrowed her hazel eyes. 'But you want it to, don't you?'

Freya tilted her head. 'Well, he _is_ gorgeous.'

'I knew it!' crowed Gretchen, triumphantly. 'I _knew_ you had a thing for him!'

'Keep your voice down, will you? If King Thrain hears you, I'll be picking crops for the rest of my days. Far away from the kitchen; and you.'

' _And_ the prince.' Gretchen added, helpfully.

'Well, that would be the whole point of the exercise, wouldn't it?'

Freya followed Thorin's form over to his father, who was with a group of people Freya didn't recognise. Introductions made, it looked as though Thrain was trying to convince Thorin to ask the young maiden in the party to dance. The band had begun playing a lively polka, so it wasn't as if they were likely to get too up close and personal, but still, Freya felt a pang of jealousy. Until she saw Thorin dance. _Oh boy_ , she thought. _He wasn't kidding when he said he had two left feet!_

Luckily, Gretchen was too busy eyeing off another likely prospect to notice Thorin's apparent lack of grace on the dance floor. Freya needed a break from obsessing over the one love that would never be hers, so she took herself off to find something to eat. A little while later, she was standing by the dance floor when a cousin or other distant relative of Thorin's – whose name she could never remember – asked her to dance.

 _Why not,_ she thought, spotting Thorin leading a busty redhead around the floor in a vain attempt at a Viennese Waltz. She let Ori or Nori or whatever his name was with the funny star-shaped hairdo lead her into the fray, and had to stifle a grin a few minutes later as their paths crossed with Thorin and the redhead.

 _Poor baby,_ thought Freya _. He looks completely lost!_ He did seem to be watching the couple in front quite a bit. But it all came undone when he spotted Freya and Nori – that was it, Nori – and promptly stamped on his partner's foot!

'You were jealous,' Freya laughed, when at last she was in his arms. The music changed to something much more manageable for the young prince, a ballad about lost love, although the lyrics, sung by a dwarf with a falsetto, were difficult to decipher. Thorin pulled Freya close and shook his head. 'I was not! I merely lost count.'

'Whatever you say.'

'You're not going to let me live this down, are you?'

'Probably not.'

She liked the way he held her. The slower dances were much more his style. 'You weren't lying though. You are a _terrible_ dancer,' she joked. 'Much worse than me.'

She half-expected him to pout, but he laughed, instead. 'Yes, yes. Make all the jokes you want. But seriously … some of those dances must have been invented by Torquemada himself. Put me in a room with the person who came up with the Viennese Waltz, for just five minutes. _I'll_ teach him how to dance.'

'With sword in hand, no doubt.'

'You know me too well.'

Freya gulped. _That I do_ , she thought. _How can someone you've known for so long, someone you've only really thought about in passing, come to mean so much in such a short space of time?_ It was ridiculous how quickly she'd gone from occasionally giving him a favourable glance to not being able to stop thinking about him. _And it all began because I happened to catch him without a shirt. Has it really been so long between drinks that I fall for the first male with a set of decent abs?_

'What are you thinking about?'

'I'm thinking that your dad probably won't like us dancing together, two songs in a row,' Freya lied, spotting the King on the edge of the dancefloor, looking more than vaguely pissed off.

'Too bad,' Thorin decided, and tightened his hold on her. She breathed in his ultra-masculine cologne, her lips perilously close to that little hollow between his collarbones. He rested his chin on the top of her head. Despite her worry about what the king would think, she never wanted this dance to end.

'Seriously, though,' she murmured, 'you should probably pick another partner for the next few songs, just so he doesn't get suspicious.'

'What are you afraid of?' He asked her directly. 'My father can't make me marry someone I don't love.'

'I'm more afraid he'll disapprove of you and I,' Freya confessed, looking up into those eyes she could never get enough of. 'You've got to admit, there's something happening between us. Or am I imagining it?'

'You're not imagining it,' he replied. He lifted a hand and brushed a strand of hair from her cheek. 'I felt it – hell, I _knew_ it, the minute I spotted the orchid in your hair. I took it as a sign. Was I wrong?'

'No. I have feelings for you, too,' Freya told him, shyly.

The song ended. 'Let's get out of here.' Thorin suggested.

'Won't your father come looking for us?'

He sighed. 'If you're that worried about it, we can leave separately. I'll meet you in your chambers. He'll never look in there – he's far too worried about etiquette. He'd be much more likely to come crashing into _my_ room, mid- … well, whatever.' Thorin's cheeks took on a hue that was frankly, a complete and utter turn-on for Freya.

'Okay, my room it is. But … just so that it's not obvious, maybe we should have a couple more dances with other people.'

'You flirt,' Thorin joked. 'You're just trying to make me jealous.'

'Is it working?'

'What do _you_ think?'

'Freya, I just ran into King Thrain. You and Thorin should probably cool it down a bit,' Gretchen whispered. 'He's not happy.'

'I didn't figure he would be.'

'He wants Thorin married into a noble – i.e rich – dwarf family. Not for the money, more for the power and prestige, and the alliances it can bring.'

Freya favoured her cousin with a reproachful look. 'Gee, Cuz, no shit.'

Gretchen had managed to catch Freya in the hallway by the huge iron and gold staircase. There was no one else about but she still kept her voice down. 'You two _were_ pretty hot out there! If he held you any closer, you'd be pregnant right now!' Gretchen grinned. 'Half your luck! I knew you'd strike gold in that dress! I just didn't imagine it would be with the Prince of Erebor, himself.'

'Neither did I, believe me,' confessed Freya. 'It's all happened so fast. One minute he was asking me for advice about what to wear tonight and the next … I feel like I'm in some kind of alternate universe, or something. This sort of thing just doesn't happen to girls like me.'

'Yes it does, and you deserve it,' Gretchen stated. 'Now, here … take my key, and go wait in my chambers. I'll get a message to Thorin to meet you there. Now, go!'

'Are you sure?'

Gretchen rolled her eyes. 'Yes, I'm sure! I'm going to have to change my sheets, and possibly burn my mattress, too, but I'm sure.'

Freya took the key and hugged her cousin. 'You're the best.'

Freya paced the floor in Gretchen's suite until she was sure she was starting to wear a hole in the rug. _Where is he? Maybe he's changed his mind. That's it … he's changed his mind. And why wouldn't he? There has to be at least fifty younger, fitter female dwarves down there, all vying for his attention. He's probably waltzing with one of them now, stepping on her toes … but he's so charming, she won't care …_

The door opened. Freya spun toward it, expecting Gretchen to tell her he wasn't coming. But it was him. 'I'm sorry it took me so long,' he said, closing the door behind him, quietly. 'Can we lock this from the inside?'

'Yes, here's the key.' Freya sighed with relief. What had she been worried about?!

'I had some trouble getting away,' Thorin explained. 'Every time I tried it seemed like the old man had another whole dwarf dynasty to introduce me to. I really think he was trying to stall me, personally.'

Freya frowned, worried. 'Do you think he'll come looking for us?'

'No. Like I said, he'd expect us to go to my room. Or leave the mountain altogether. He won't go to your chambers, out of respect, and he certainly won't think of coming here.' Thorin let out a long breath. 'Besides, I think I managed to distract him.'

'How?'

'I introduced him to the mother of a friend. A widow. With really big … assets.'

Freya giggled. 'By that I assume you mean …'

'Well, yeah,' Thorin nodded. 'But also, really rich.'

Freya felt light-headed. Had she really drunk that much wine? On the way up to Gretchen's chambers, she'd chugged two more glasses for Dutch courage but three drinks never left her giddy like this. _Must be him_ , she thought.

'God, you're gorgeous,' Thorin breathed. 'I really love that dress on you.'

'Thank you. You're a little bit drunk, aren't you?'

'So are you,' he accused, with a grin. He took a step toward her. 'I hope I'm sober enough to get this dress off without tearing it.'

'I wasn't aware you were wearing a dress, too,' Freya joked.

'Hardy-har. I meant yours. Because as lovely as you are in it, I think you'll look even better out of it.'

For once, Freya was rendered speechless. She had no quick comeback for that one. All she could do was stare up at him, wondering what in the hell he saw in her. She was nothing but a kitchen maid, a cook … and he was _royalty_. They really could not get further apart in stature. But here he was, tilting her chin up so she had to look at him. Stroking her cheek, sliding his hand back behind her ear and unfastening the pins that held her hair back in its tidy knot.

It fell to her shoulders, and down her back. The look in Thorin's eyes was pure wonder. He'd somehow caught the orchid before it managed to float to the ground, and traced a path from behind Freya's ear to her collarbone with its flower.

'That tickles,' Freya commented, lifting her shoulder reflexively.

He stepped forward, dropped the flower and suddenly his lips were on hers, crushing and urgent. He didn't try to shove his tongue down her throat, but it was too much, too fast. 'Wait, wait,' Freya gasped into his mouth. 'Just … give me a second to get my head around this.'

'Sorry.' He looked confused. 'Have you changed your mind?'

'No, not at all! I just … need to go a bit slower. You don't have to be a bull at a gate.'

'Okay, sorry.' His sheepish grin was really very endearing. 'What about this, then?'

His second effort was much, _much_ better. Freya let him pull her into an embrace and guide her over to the bed, all without breaking contact. He tasted like ale and the little canapes Gretchen had prepared with mushrooms and bacon. His large hands played over her shoulders and down her back. Freya was so lost in the kiss her that her hands remained frozen to his chest. The ends of his hair tickled her shoulder and neck. Before she knew what was happening, they were lying down beside each other, and he had propped himself up on an elbow. His blue eyes looked darker than usual in the muted light from the oil lamp on the nightstand. Thorin kissed Freya softly and started to untie the lace on the front of her gown. She reached up and stroked his face; his beard. Gaining confidence by the minute, she helped him loosen the bodice of her dress, and guided his hand to her breast. Thorin moaned softly into her mouth. His large, rough palm caressed her soft skin. His hand was cool, but not cold. A delicious shiver coursed through Freya as he squeezed her breast and kissed his way down to it. His tongue flickered over the nipple. Where it had a second ago been cool, it was now pleasantly warm and achy. She arched her back a little, rising to meet him. His mouth and beard tickled the skin over her sternum and ribcage. He pushed her bodice aside and moved to kiss the other breast.

'I think it's time you lost some clothes,' she whispered, tugging at the Chinese collar on his tunic. 'Come on, no fair! I'm lying exposed, here.'

Thorin chuckled and let her unbutton his jacket, push it from his shoulders and toss it aside. His shirt joined soon thereafter. 'That's more like it,' she said. 'Continue.'

'Yes, Boss,' he said, with that deep, throaty chuckle that did things to her nether regions. He leaned over her and his hair fell to her chest as he kissed her, deeply, longingly.

 _If this is a dream,_ Freya thought, _let me never wake up!_ She ran her hands up the outsides of his strong arms to his shoulders, and over his perfect, smooth back. She loved the way every movement caused a ripple of sinew and muscle beneath her fingertips. He stroked her hair back from her face and let his body rest against hers, briefly. The skin of his chest and torso was almost uncommonly warm against Freya's. They fit together like pieces of a puzzle.

'Are you sure about this?' he asked her. 'It's not too late to change your mind.'

'Why would I want to change my mind?' she replied. He kissed her, and slid a hand down her body, past the waist of her dress, and back up beneath the skirt. His knuckles grazed the skin of her inner thigh gently, up to where her underclothes denied him access. 'I think it's time these came off,' he whispered, against her lips. She laughed. 'Yours, too.'

'Of course.'

Together they helped each other undress. The dim light from the lamp threw shadows across the walls of the large room, giving Thorin a primal look as he threw aside a curtain of hair and lay back down beside her. His strong, compact body was golden and smooth and perfect. Freya could have stared at it all day. He was like a painting she'd seen in a gallery once, of the Greek gods. Apollo, she thought it might have been, or Zeus. Yes, Zeus, the god of thunder. Thorin had a much shorter beard and darker hair, but the fierce countenance was much the same. Not that he bore his usual scowl, now. His current expression was one of lust mixed with a tinge of something that looked to Freya like fear, or anxiety, at the very least.

'You are _so_ amazing,' she told him. 'Come here.'

The length of his body against hers, free of the trappings of clothes, felt completely natural and yet filled Freya with a fear of being caught like this. What if someone did burst in?! The idea of Thorin's father finding them like this was mortifying. 'We should at least get under the covers,' she whispered.

He nodded. 'Good idea.' Once under the safety of the heavy comforter, Freya felt her confidence return. She let a hand play down his chest and abs, slowly, and curled a hand around his velvety smooth shaft. He stopped kissing her for a second to catch his breath.

'Too much?' she asked him.

He shook his head. 'No. By all means. Keep going.'

She obliged him, using both hands to cup and caress, until his eyes closed and his breathing grew ragged. 'Oh,' he said, eventually, 'oh, stop.'

Freya obeyed, slipping her arms back up around his neck. He kissed her, grinned, and said, 'My turn.'

Rolling so that he lay to her right, his hand blazed a hot, heady trail down her shoulder to her breast, stopping there to tease her nipple to a hard, aching point; and then moved across to the other. Further down he travelled, to her ribcage and then her hip, where his fingertips tickled her skin like feathers – or the petals of that orchid. All the while he watched her, taking his cues from the expressions on her face. Finally his hand rested on her upper thigh, his fingertips tantalisingly close to her sex.

Freya turned her body in toward Thorin's; tried to pull him against her, but he resisted. His hand slid between her legs, opening her gently, his fingers stroking the soft folds. She yielded to him almost immediately, arching her back and closing her eyes. His hand continued to move against her most private places, his thumb circling her clit like an animal stalking its prey, slowly and deliberately. Freya felt the first warm tingle of orgasm in her thighs, and her knees began to tremble. She opened her eyes and stared up at Thorin. He was enjoying this, clearly. The corner of his mouth was turned up in that sexy smirk of his.

She wanted him so badly in that moment, that nothing save an army of orcs bursting in and breaking up their party could have dissuaded her from going all the way. But he wasn't going to let her have her way, just yet. He rested his head on his hand, and kept up the torture, the pace of his strokes increasing as her chest rose and fell, and her breathing grew shallow. She turned her face into his chest, and tried to close her thighs to him as her orgasm threatened to tip her over the edge.

'Enough?' he asked her, finally. She gasped and nodded, and the stroking stopped, but his hand stayed there, nestled between her thighs, his fingertips taut against her hot, wet flesh. Freya struggled to catch her breath. Just when she thought she had herself back under control, the hand started up again.

'Oh you!' She slapped him, playfully. 'No fair!'

He chuckled, and just the expression on his face in that moment could have finished her off. It was equal parts mischievous, cheeky and sly. The glint in his eyes alone told her everything she needed to know about Thorin the lover. He would be content to keep this up until she was ready to scream.

'Do you … really want … your father … to hear us … and come bus … busting in?' she asked, between pants.

'He wouldn't hear us from downstairs.' His hand picked up the pace. A finger slid inside her, and then another. His thumb stroked her clit as his fingers moved in and out. Freya's knees started to buckle. She drove her heels into the mattress as the tsunami hit, and tried not to cry out. She bit down on her lip in the process and tasted blood. That must have been a sign for Thorin because he withdrew, and allowed her time to catch her breath again.

'That was mean,' she told him, as soon as she was capable of speech.

'That was _beyond_ sexy,' he replied.

' _You're_ beyond sexy.'

He laughed. 'Well, thank you.' He leaned in and kissed her mouth, her chin, her throat and her left breast, leaving minute smudges of her own blood on her skin. 'I'm sorry I made you bite your lip, though. Does it hurt?'

'Not really.'

'Good.' He kissed her again, pulling the lip gently into his mouth. Settling over her, he braced himself with his elbows and pushed into her, slowly and deeply. Freya closed her eyes, the sensation almost too much to bear. Her legs trembled and she had to wrap them around his waist to get them to stop. Her inner muscles grabbed at him, in memory of the pleasure that had been so strong that it was almost like pain. It was building up again, surging with each slow, measured thrust. Thorin adjusted his tempo and angle slightly, maybe just to relieve pressure on his knees, but the slight shift caused a different kind of friction, and Freya felt like the top of her head was about to come off!

Heels back against the mattress, Freya arched her back, the pleasure almost blinding in its intensity. She clung to him and tried not to cry out; tried to be quiet, but he kept moving, his own climax building, and the sweet friction sought to drive her mad.

Finally he came inside her with a rush, and a shuddery breath, and it was over.

Freya opened her eyes and for a second or two, had no idea where she was. Then the events of the previous night started coming back to her. She glanced to the right. The prince was fast asleep, lying facing her, his hand beneath his cheek like an angel. He was still as naked as the day he was born. The bedclothes lay across his hip, and Freya could have stared at him all morning, but she knew the longer they stayed there, the bigger the risk they'd be caught together. King Thrain would not be impressed that his only son was fraternizing with a mere servant. He might even send her away and she'd never see Thorin again. The thought caused a feeling like pain in her chest.

'Thorin, wake up! You _have_ to wake up.' She reached over and shook his shoulder. He mumbled something in his sleep that was unintelligible, and his eyelids moved, as if he was dreaming, but he didn't wake up. She shook him again. 'Thorin, it's me, Freya. We have to get dressed and leave before people start looking for us.'

That did it. He blinked again, and his blue eyes opened. 'Hi.' He apparently needed no time to remember what had occurred between them the night before.

'Hi. Look, we have to hurry. I'm on for breakfast this morning. If I don't get down there, people will be suspicious. And they can't witness either of us leaving this room together.'

'So it's to be subterfuge, again,' he said, his voice husky. 'Why can't we just say damn them all and tell them we're together?'

'Because your father will banish me from Erebor and make you marry the first girl whose father offers him a dowry, that's why.'

'Dowries went out before the end of the First Age.'

'Thorin,' Freya pleaded. 'Please get up!'

'All right, all right. Keep your underclothes on.' He chuckled and lifted the bedclothes. 'Or rather, put them back on.'

The lovers scrambled to find their discarded clothing, each one sneaking furtive glances when they thought the other wasn't looking. Finally, Freya felt ready to brave the outside corridor. Opening Gretchen's chamber door, she looked both ways and lifted a foot to tiptoe out, before Thorin caught her, pulling her back inside the room.

'What is it, now?' she whispered. 'I have to go. I don't want to. I _have_ to.'

He curled an arm around her waist, pulled her against him and kissed her, passionately. Despite her anxiety, she couldn't help but respond in kind. Just as her legs started feeling a little wonky, she pushed him away, gently. 'I have to go.'

As Freya reached the foot of the stairs, she heard voices in the dining hall. Thrain's, she thought, and Thorin's sister. Why were they up so early?

'Are you sure it's gone? You didn't just misplace it?'

'I'm sure, Father. The last time I saw it, it was pinned to my shawl, in the cloakroom. And now … it's missing.'

'What's the trouble?' Freya asked, venturing into the room. 'Oh, Dis … I didn't know you were still here.'

'Hello, Freya.' Thorin's sister favoured her with a strained smile. 'It's been a while.'

'It has. How are you?'

'Not so good, actually. You see, my favourite gemstone brooch is missing. It's a ruby in the shape of a heart, surrounded by diamonds. You haven't seen it at all, have you? Maybe someone picked it up and put it somewhere for safekeeping. One of the servants, I mean.'

'Well if they had, they didn't tell me about it,' Freya replied, guardedly. 'Why don't I check the cloakroom?'

'I've already searched it, three times,' Dis announced, despair becoming apparent in her voice. 'I'm starting to think someone's made off with it. It was rather valuable, you know.'

'One of the guests, you mean?'

'Yes, possibly. They weren't all as well-to-do as we are. And that gem would fetch a pretty price.'

King Thrain seemed to regard Freya for the first time since she entered the room. 'And where have _you_ been all night, Missy? I thought I saw you dancing with my son, and then you vanished.' His thick brow knitted in consternation. 'And so did he, come to think of it.'

'Did he?' Freya replied, nonchalantly. 'I wouldn't know. I went to bed early … I've been coming down with something.'

Dis tilted her honey-blonde head and narrowed her blue eyes. She might not have resembled her father or brother, but she did have the same shade blue eyes as Thorin. And the same way of staring at you until you felt exposed. 'I saw you with my brother, as well,' she stated. 'You two looked engrossed in each other.'

'Did we? Well, what can I say … he's a very interesting fellow.'

King Thrain looked mightily amused by that comment, but didn't say anything. Dis looked scornful.

'Please just look for my brooch,' she replied, 'I'd really hate to lose it. My husband gave it to me on our anniversary.'

'I will. I'll scour the place for it, I promise.'

After the breakfast dishes were done, Freya and Gretchen, with the help of Fili and Kili, conducted a co-ordinated search for the gemstone. 'It has to be in the room she and whatshisname shared,' Gretchen groaned, as she moved a side table in the main foyer to look behind it. 'I mean, that would make sense, wouldn't it? Which room did they stay in? To the right or the left of the landing?' She chuckled. 'Oh wait … you wouldn't remember. You were somewhat occupied at the time.'

'Ssh! Keep your voice down, will you?'

'So how was it?' Gretchen asked, her voice a whisper. 'Did he rock your world?'

Freya felt a blush stain her cheeks and travel down her neck to her décolletage. 'I like to think we both had an adequate time.'

Gretchen raised an eyebrow. 'Adequate? Really? Tell me I didn't lend my room out for "adequate" sex.'

Freya glanced both ways down the corridor. 'Okay it was phenomenal, all right? Best I've ever had! Is that enough detail for you? Or do you want a play-by-play?'

Gretchen stifled a laugh. 'No, thanks, cuz. I believe you. And I'm happy for you. You needed … well, let's be honest here. You needed a right good shagging.'

'Well, thank you.'

'You're welcome.'

'Actually I … I rather hope it was more than that,' Freya admitted, lowering her own voice. 'More than just a one night stand, I mean.' She took a step closer to her cousin. 'Gretch … I think I'm in love. And the way he behaved this morning leads me to think he has feelings for me, too.'

Gretchen smiled. 'I'm so happy for you, Cousin. By the way, what happened to your lip?'

After lunch that day, King Thrain called an impromptu meeting of everyone – staff, royal family and guests – still in attendance at Erebor. Nobody knew what the meeting was about, but there were plenty of whispers. 'I think he's going to announce who the lucky lady is,' gossiped one of the maids, while out in the garden. Freya tried not to listen but it was hard. The two dwarves were not careful about who was within earshot. 'Did you see Prince Thorin dancing with Belladonna of the Moria dwarves last night? Oh, they made such a handsome couple! I bet it's her.'

Freya chewed on her already injured lower lip. Shows how much you know, she thought.

The throne room was quietly buzzing by the time she arrived. King Thrain was seated between his two children. Freya caught a glint of red on Dis's shawl. Oh, so she found it, she thought. She might have told Gretchen and I so we didn't waste time looking! She avoided looking at Thorin as much as possible. But she felt his eyes on her regardless.

King Thrain rapped his cane against the stone floor. All chatter ceased. He scanned the room with his beady black eyes. 'I trust everyone is now in attendance. I will now tell you all why I have called you here.' He cleared his throat. 'Last night, my daughter lost a piece of jewellery that meant a great deal to her. It was pinned to her shawl in the cloakroom. When she returned to fetch it, it wasn't there.'

'It's on her shawl now,' one of the garden crew pointed out.

'That it is,' King Thrain agreed. 'We found it this morning.' He seemed to sigh with resignation. 'I truly hate to do this, as the thief is one of our own. But I will not tolerate dishonesty in this kingdom. Freya, would you please step forward?'

Freya felt faint. What on earth?! She approached the king on shaky legs. The crowd seemed to part for her, as if they didn't want to touch the dirty thief, in case they were infected by her wrongdoing and judged guilty by association. 'I didn't take it, King Thrain, I promise,' she pleaded.

Freya's eyes darted toward Thorin. He was staring at his father, aghast. 'Father, you can't honestly believe … Freya's been a loyal employee here for years! Why would she do something like this? What evidence do you have?'

The king turned to his son. 'It was found in her chambers. Beneath her pillow.'

Freya now felt faint _and_ sick. Gretchen. It _had_ to be. _She spent the night in my room,_ Freya realised. _Gretchen, how could you?! But how can I turn her in? She's my cousin! And how can I prove I didn't do this, without implicating both Gretchen_ and _Thorin?! Above all, how could she put me – both of us - in this situation?!_ Speechless with betrayal, Freya saw spots in front of her eyes. Her legs gave way beneath her. She heard a confusion of voices, and then all was quiet.

'She's coming to.'

'She's all right, people. Give her some air.'

The first face she saw when she recovered consciousness was that of her beloved. He stroked her hair back from her face, gently, and helped her to sit up. 'Are you okay?'

'About as well as can be expected,' Freya whispered. 'Now that I'm out of a job.'

Thorin turned toward the King. 'Freya couldn't have done this,' he told his father. 'She's not a thief. She has no reason to steal from us. We pay her well.'

'Perhaps she got greedy.' Thrain replied, evenly. It was clear he wasn't just going to take his only son's word for it. _Does he know_? Freya thought. _Or at the very least, does he suspect there's something between us?_

'I don't believe that,' Thorin stated, flatly. 'Besides, she was …'

'Freya didn't steal the brooch.' Gretchen strode to the front of the room. 'I did.'

'You?' Thrain turned toward her, sternly. 'But why?'

'Because my mother is very ill, and needs the best physicians in the kingdom, and I cannot afford it,' Gretchen explained. 'I didn't want to trouble you by asking for a raise, and I figured I could pawn it and buy it back later, when it became second-hand, and therefore cheaper.'

'But why did you hide it in your cousin's chambers? You _had_ to know she'd be implicated.'

'Because I was spending the night there and …' Gretchen trailed off. She'd already said too much.

'You were spending the night there? Why, in the name of the Gods, would you do _that_? You have your own very well-appointed room.' Thrain looked baffled.

'We were … having a sleepover. Girls do those things,' Freya said, lamely.

Thrain peered down his sizeable nose at Freya and Thorin, noting how his son's strong arm was wrapped around the servant's shoulder. How he hovered over her protectively. How Freya clung to him as though he were a life-raft. Freya saw a shift in his expression. A knowing. Her heart sank.

'Everyone, back to what you were doing before I called this meeting,' Thrain thundered, suddenly. 'Except you, young lady; and my son.' He glanced at Gretchen. 'You stay, too.'

Once the throne room was all but empty the King addressed Gretchen. 'You have been a loyal and hard-working servant up to this point. I am very disappointed with your behaviour, my dear,' he said, gravely. 'But I understand your reasons behind it, and I will endeavour to help you get the proper medical treatment for your mother.'

'Oh thank you, Your Majesty,' Gretchen sobbed. 'How can I ever repay you?'

'You will work without pay for a month. That should be just punishment. Be off with you, now.' He waved her away. 'I have bigger fish to fry.'

'Father …'

'Son, you have never given me reason to pass judgement on you before, but I cannot ignore this.' Thrain closed his eyes and shook his head. 'What were you thinking?' He seemed to regret that question almost immediately. 'Never mind! I know _exactly_ what you were thinking.'

'Father, what …'

'Don't interrupt me, Son. You disappoint me here today. Fraternizing with the help! Really! And I'd gathered such an array of suitable females for your perusal. Virtuous girls from noble families.'

'Freya is virtuous.'

Freya tugged on Thorin's shirtsleeve, wincing. 'Actually …'

'See?' Thrain exclaimed, gesturing wildly. 'She even admits it! She admits her loose morals.'

'If she has loose morals then so do I, Father,' said Thorin, gravely. 'As they say, it takes two to tango. I take full responsibility for this. I pursued her. I wanted her. I _still_ want her.'

'You are a prince. You are of royal blood. You cannot seriously entertain the idea of marrying one so … common.' He almost spat the word out in distaste.

Freya literally felt Thorin's anger radiate from him. 'She is anything _but_ common.'

'She is older than you. She is possibly too old to give you heirs.' Thrain stated flatly.

'I don't care.'

'I'm not _that_ old! Jeez!' Freya protested. But neither of them seemed to have heard her. Father and son stared each other down.

'I'm afraid I can't have this, Thorin. Freya must leave Erebor tonight and not come back. You must choose a suitable bride from the guest list. I will brook no argument.'

Thorin seemed to stand taller in that moment. He kept his arm around Freya. 'Then she and I will leave tonight. Spare you the humiliation.'

'What? No! That's not … You can't do that!' Thrain protested in alarm.

'I can and I will. _We_ will.' Thorin held Freya close to him. 'Goodbye, Father.'

'Thorin, come back, this instant! I command you to obey me! You will not leave this mountain …'

Freya realised she was holding her breath when they reached the entry to the mountain. 'I can't believe you did that,' she said. 'For me!'

'I'll get word to Fili and Kili. They'll pack up our stuff and arrange to have it brought to us.'

'So you know where we're going?'

'I have an idea.'

Freya felt the words come out of her mouth even as she regretted saying them. 'Thorin, you have to think about what you're doing!' She stopped him in his tracks. 'You're leaving your family, your title; _everything_ … for _me_! A lowly servant-girl! We had one really, _really_ good night together, and I'll treasure it forever, but …'

'But nothing! It's about more than just a sudden rush of lust. It's about my freedom to choose. And I choose you.' Thorin stared back at the gates to the mountain. 'He can't understand that because he's always done everything he was expected to. Married whom he was supposed to; produced an heir. He knows nothing of real feelings.'

'He never loved your mother?'

Thorin relented. 'I suppose he grew to love her, but it was always a marriage of convenience.' He sighed. 'I can't do that. I know I come across as stern and unfeeling but I'm not. I'm really not.'

Freya reached up and placed her hand on his cheek. 'I know, my love.' He took her hand and kissed its palm. 'I just don't want you to give up all you've ever known for me, and live to regret it,' she told him. 'And grow to hate me.'

'I could never hate you,' he promised, holding her face in his hands. 'I love you.'

Thorin and Freya settled in a small town on the outskirts of Erebor. Kili, Fili and Gretchen knew where they were, but were sworn to secrecy, lest the King try to find Thorin and force him to come back. Those were some of the best days of Freya's entire life. She created a little fruit and vegetable garden at the back of their small stone house, and started reading about herbs and home remedies.

A few months of unwedded bliss later, there were rumblings around town that war was imminent. Azog the Defiler wanted to usurp Thrain and was assembling an army to take over the mountain, along with the rumoured treasure in its vaults. Thrain and his elderly father, Thror, didn't have enough of a defence to hold off the pale orc for long, and the elves had ignored any plea for help. Thorin tried to ignore all of this; tried to just get on with his life. He had plans – he'd been working hard as a blacksmith's assistant to afford a ring for Freya. He was going to ask her to marry him as soon as he had the ring in his hand. He had no plan to return to the mountain. As far as he was concerned, his family was here.

But Freya had heard the same rumblings, the same rumours. She knew Thrain and Thror needed Thorin's knowledge of battle strategy; his cunning and strength if they were ever to beat Azog. She broached the subject one night as they lay in front of the fire, in each other's arms. 'You have to go back' she urged him. 'You must help defend our people.' She played with a lock of his dark hair, curling it around her finger. 'Defend their home.'

'But what about you?'

'I'll be fine. I'll be here waiting.'

'What if something happens to me?'

She punched him in the arm, playfully. 'Don't talk like that! You'll jinx yourself.'

'You'd really let me go and fight?'

Freya gazed at her dwarf prince as the light from the fire burnished his golden skin and reflected off his eyes. 'It's not a matter of letting you. I'm not the boss of you. If you didn't go, you'd feel guilty, especially if the mountain were overrun with orcs. What if they kill your family? _My_ family? Gretchen's still in there, remember? Fili and Kili? And I know you are at odds with your father right now, but he and your grandfather need you.'

Thorin stroked her cheek. 'You are the most unselfish person I've ever met. All right, I'll go. I'll head back at first light tomorrow.'

Freya felt her heart sink. She didn't think it would be _that_ easy to convince him. 'Please be safe and come back to me,' she whispered. 'To me and our baby.' She glanced up to see if he heard what she'd said – but he was already asleep.

And as they say, the rest is history. Freya watched her brave warrior leave the next morning, suddenly sure she was never going to see him again. The orcs came; and then the great dragon, Smaug came, and took the mountain and the treasure inside for himself. King Thrain went missing, presumed dead. _His_ father Thror was killed in battle. Thorin fought the pale orc and won … just. The most amazing thing, people gossiped, was that he'd fought with nothing more than a piece of oak as a shield. Henceforth, he became known across the land as Thorin Oakenshield.

Freya heard all of this and smiled sadly. Of course she was overjoyed to hear he was safe, although Azog the Defiler _had_ put a price on his head. She held the promise of his imminent return close to her heart. For she had some news of her own. She missed him terribly. The nights were so cold and unforgiving. It seemed as though any minute, he was going to walk through that door.

But he never did.

Others came to town, though. Orcs streamed through the area, burning and pillaging as they went, looking for the Prince of Erebor and the bounty promised for his capture. Azog wanted the young prince alive – so he himself would have the pleasure of removing Thorin's head from his body. But Thorin was nowhere to be seen. Some had the nerve to say Thorin was a coward for not confronting the pale orc, but Freya quickly reminded them that he already had done so – and won. Her anger threatened to boil over but she somehow managed to keep it in check. In her heart, Freya understood that Thorin was just trying to protect her by not returning. With a battalion of orcs on his trail, he would consider it not only foolhardy but selfish to come back here now, a marked man. She did not know that Thorin believed the pale orc was dead and that he was in fact on his way back to her. She remained at the house until the night when her little surprise made its untimely entrance, weeks too early.

She named him Theo. He had blue eyes just like his father's. They did not stay open for long.

Unable to deal with the pain, and hearing Azog's band of orcs were closing in, Freya fled the home she made with Thorin so many moons ago, it seemed. She could not have known that only a week or so later, there would be a knock on her door.

Thorin frowned. Why had the door been left unbolted? Where was Freya?

He pushed at the door and it swung open. Inside, it looked as though a hurricane had swept through. Books lay on the floor, some torn to shreds. Plates were broken and a chair lay on its back in the dining area. Whoever had ransacked the place had been through the larder. Bones from a chicken or duck were strewn across the table.

'Orcs,' Thorin growled. Only orcs – or possibly goblins – would be so carelessly messy. Dwarves tended to clean up after themselves when they were invited guests. Oh, they'd grumble about it, surely, but they'd get it done.

He found no sign of his love in any of the three rooms of the house, so he ventured back outside and around to the garden, where he knew she loved to spend a great deal of time. Seeing his beloved's garden trampled, the rosebushes ripped from their trellises, his anger grew, but his worry was greater. Where was she?! What had they done with her?

His eye was drawn to the large, shady oak at the back of their property. At its base was a cross made with white fence palings. Across the T portion, someone had carefully printed the words: "Here lies Theo, beloved son of Thorin and Freya. May we meet again." In front of the cross was a small mound of raised earth surrounded by white pebbles.

Thorin felt as if someone had reached into his chest and pulled out his heart. He sank to his knees and for the first time in his life, wept as if he would never stop. He had to assume his love was dead. There was nothing more keeping him here now. With the dragon guarding Erebor, his father and Freya missing, presumed dead and his people scattered to the wind, there was nothing left for him now in this part of the world.

Or so he thought …

One day, several years after the dragon laid waste to Dale and sent the dwarves under the mountain fleeing for their lives, Freya heard a rumour that the dwarves had retaken Erebor, and the dragon was dead.

It should have been happy news. And it would have been, had she not been told that among the dead was her greatest love - finally felled by Azog the Defiler. Slain also were Thorin's nephews, Fili and Kili. The dwarves had won back their home: but at what cost?

Freya could hardly bear the news. It seemed an age since she'd seen Thorin in the flesh and yet she felt his loss as keenly as the day he left to help defend their mountain home. She'd never married; nor had she met anyone who could hold a candle to Thorin Oakenshield. She had spent the intervening years traveling, meeting people and selling her herbal remedies in every village she came across. She stayed in Bree for a good while, plying her trade as a healer and midwife. But as always the time came when she got itchy feet, and had to move on.

A little while later, a weary Freya decided to rest in a lovely green hamlet filled with funny little homes built into the hills - homes with round doors and arched windows; lovely gardens. It was a town with a real peaceful ambience about it. She found a place to sit by a stream, and for the first time in a very, _very_ long time, gave herself permission to cry.

'Are you all right, Miss?'

Freya glanced up. The young hobbit in front of her had such a pretty, earnest face, with huge blue eyes just like her Theo's … the colour just like his father's. The boy's curly dark hair was ruffled, and he looked as if he'd spent the morning climbing trees.

'I'm fine, dear,' she told him, wiping her eyes. 'I just … I lost something. Something very precious to me.'

'What is it? Can I help you find it?'

'No, don't you worry your head about me,' she told him. 'I'll be all right.'

'You're new around here, aren't you?' He asked. 'If you like, you could come for tea with me and my uncle. We live just over there, In Bag End.' He turned and pointed to one of those cute little homes under the hill. Turning back, he held out his hand.

'I'm Frodo Baggins.'

The End.


End file.
